These Foolish Games
by Sharpay
Summary: Angelica wants to get back at Jack Sparrow, and she's willing to do whatever it takes. The race for the Lost City of Atlantis is underway, which means some unlikely allies will be made. Pairings undecided. Rated T for minor language. R&R my 1st POTC.  :


**Plot:**

After being stranded on a deserted island by Jack Sparrow, Angelica decides that she will do whatever it takes to get back at him. The question is... how far will she really go? The race to find the Lost City of Atlantis is just beginning and it seems that it will play a large key in the future. Undecided pairings. Rated T for minor language.

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><p>Curse him; curse all of those blasted, bloody pirates. A slur of Spanish swearwords could be heard escaping the lips of a pretty young Latino as she shoved another log into the slowly diminishing fire. She had to keep the fire going; even if the sun was extraordinarily hot today, she needed the smoke. She needed the help of anything that would possibly allow her a chance. "Cuando dejo esta isla..." Another murmur escaped her lips now as she sat next to the small fire. She leaned forward, poking it with the remnants of a branch in hopes of stirring it higher. It was nearing a week since she had been marooned here on this blasted island, but her anger had not yet subsided. Captain Jack Sparrow, her one and only lover, had just left her here; he had <em>abandoned<em> her. She couldn't even find the decency in her heart to forgive him for it, either. He killed her father; saved her life, told her he loved her, and then just stranded her on a blasted deserted island all within a matter of days. Who did that? Who did he think he was? The young adult was certain that he was the only pirate that could pull off such a thing. He manipulated her, destroyed her, and just left her here to rot. She still was wrapping her mind around just how he did it; it wasn't every day that someone could outsmart her.

But, she mused, the matter probably should no longer be _how_ or _why_ he did it. No. The matter now needed to be how _she_ was going to fix this problem. She would outsmart him, out scheme him, and upstage him as she had every time before. It was almost just their foolish game. Each time the two met, it was as if they spent their moments trying to upstage one another; it was whoever could pull off the most godforsaken evil thing to the other one, and then swear it was because they loved them. Angelica had been quite certain that she was going to destroy the man this last time around – that she was finally going to beat him at his own game. Obviously, by the current state of her situation, she had not managed to do so. She wouldn't be stuck here with nothing to show but a small campfire, a gun with no bullet, a stockpile of sour fruits, three -soon to be two- bottles of rum, and… a voodoo doll.

Her eyes trailed to the small sand covered doll now. Trailing her hand across the sand, she picked it up and brushed it off. The doll was the only real remains she had of her father's black magic days. It had washed up on shore just a few days ago, almost as if by fate, but she had not yet decided how to make use of it. A small doll, really only about four inches tall, it was a very rough replica of Captain Jack Sparrow. It was the key to her revenge, and, should she play her cards right, it would be the end to their foolish games. She would come out on top one way or another - that much she was confident of. Her eyes focused on the small doll's face, bringing it up to her own face and glaring at it. "Muñeca estúpida. Hombre estúpido…"

She held the doll out toward the fire, letting it dangle over the weakening flame for a few seconds. The adult was tempted to just drop the doll in, but something was holding her back. She knew that should she drop the doll into the fire, it would mean the end for both the doll and Captain Jack Sparrow. And, no matter how much she hated the man, a greater part of her still loved him. So, she let the doll dangle there for just a few moments before pulling it back and chucking it down the beach to its temporary sandy grave. There were moments when she wished that she would just burn it and allow Jack to reap in the consequences; there were other moments when she loved him so much that she didn't want him to suffer; then, there were the moments when she wanted to be there to see his face when she did escape this blasted island and when she did finally get his revenge. The latter tended to be the reoccurring, as well as the thoughts that often prevailed. It was these thoughts that kept her awake through the night, creating further frustration. Why must their relationship be so complicated?

Her eyes shifted down the shore to where the doll lay, hesitating for a second. Then, she shifted her attention the fire. She slumped over onto one side, shoving a burning log closer to the flame. The sun was hot, the fire was hot, and very little things seemed to be working in her favor. She needed a way off this blasted island quickly. She needed a way to seek revenge. She had kept an eye on the horizon, scanning for any sign of a passing ship, and she kept her fire going twenty-four seven, just in case someone would happen to see it. No one had gone by, and no one seemed to be going by anytime soon. Jack had sworn this was a regularly traveled shipping route, but she was beginning to doubt that. She hated the feeling of desperateness that surrounded her each and every day now. She hated the idea of being stuck here forever. She knew that she couldn't –wouldn't- survive much longer on sour fruits, aged rum, and selective fish that she happened to catch. What kind of a life was that?

A nearby rum bottle found its way to her hand now, and she popped the top. It made its way to her lips and she took small sip. Rum was a foul drink that she would not normally condone drinking. This wasn't a normal circumstance, though. It had been the only liquid, aside from salt water, that she had easy access to on the island. She was stressed and the rum was helping her to relax. Five days here and nothing to show for it. An exasperated sigh escaped her lips and she laid back in the sand, staring at the mid-morning's sky. This waiting was torture; the amount of time that she had been stuck here had to be a new record for the woman. She was almost angry with herself now. She clutched the rum bottle tightly, swearing lightly under her breath. It was early in the day yet; she shouldn't be so worked up. Some sleep would do her some good.

It wasn't but a short time later, after staring at the sky and a half a bottle of rum had been downed, that she could feel her eyes getting heavy. She murmured softly under her breath, rolling over to put her back away from the fire. Her breathing slowed, and she felt herself drift off. She might as well sleep, since there seemed to be very little else to do.

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><p>"<em>Will! Will, my boy, we need you to come above deck!"<em>

"_Captain Turner! Look, in the distance!"_

"_Smoke! I see smoke! Look over there at—"_

"_I didn't know that anyone lived this far out, Captain!"_

A muddle of shouts could be heard from the ten or eleven people that stood on the top deck of the Flying Dutchman. It was mid-morning and the ship was far out at sea. They hadn't seen land in a few days, but occasionally they would mass a merchant ship traveling from one Caribbean island to another. It mostly had been just the sight and the smell of the sea, though. At the mention of land, many more of the crew members were pausing in what they were doing, stopping to run to the right side of the deck and peer over the rail at a small island in the distance. Points and speculation dabbled from the mouth of the crew, but most of them went to silence as the young Will Turner – Captain Will Turner – appeared above deck. He wandered toward the helm, stopping once he was up the small set of stairs to peer off into the distance. Squinting at the island, he could tell that there was a line of smoke coming from the island.

"Drop the anchor! We need a dingy." His words were calm, laced with a slight concern as he gave the commands to his father. His father relayed the message to the crew, who quickly scrambled to please their captain, and Will smiled in gratitude at his father. The two stood for a moment, peering into the distance at the small island. Uncharted, no settlers were known to live there. This is what was most surprising about there being smoke. Even if no one was there, Will knew that he would not live peacefully without stopping to make certain everything was fine.

"Do you think it's something we should be concerned about?" Voicing his thoughts, Will cast a cautious glance to his father. Much more weathered with many more years of experience on the seas, his father was often the man he turned to when he needed another opinion about their situation. His father was his first mate, his hero, and his guidance. Will was certain that he would be lost without him

"It's hard to tell," His father's reply came quickly, much softer. They exchanged weary looks and then the older man nodded, as if to give consent. "It could just be a leftover fire from some sailors. Perhaps a fire from this dreaded heat. Or, maybe someone is stranded, William… this is a severely traveled route. We should do the right thing and send a man ashore to check it out."

"My thoughts precisely." Will smiled at his father's words, a thin line of worry now present on his face. His eyes remained focused at the island and the line of smoke, tracing any and all possible explanations. They stood in silence for a second, before Will spoke again. "I hope that every—"

"Captain Turner! The dingy is ready. Who will be going ashore?"

At the words of another crewmate, Will cut his words short. He smiled another apologetic smile at his father, and then turned to the man who had spoken. He started for the steps, his hand reaching up to adjust his worn, feathered hat. "I will go; it's far too dangerous for anyone else."

"Will, you can't go on land, yet. It hasn't been ten years." Will could hear his father following him down the steps rather quickly. Once Will reached the bottom he started for the dingy, his mind already made up. "At least let me go with you; one of us needs to be able to go ashore."

Will sighed, nodding at his father once he had sat down in the dingy. He motioned to the boat, which his father was already stepping into. "Maccus, hold the ship down until we return. Lower the dingy." And, without further ado, the dingy was lowered and the two men began to row toward the source of the smoke. Will had a feeling that this was not going to go well. Not well at all...

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Woo, it's been a really long time since I was last here on . Let me just say, it feels good to write again! This is my first POTC story, and my first time writing in a while. I'd love to hear your thoughts. 3 I'm not sure what the pairings will be yet, but the story will focus on Angelica, Jack, Will, and Elizabeth. What pairings would you like to see? Let me know! I'll update soon. Thank you for reading!


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